Monsters
by Ninja Giraffe
Summary: A.U. Mostly after Emily Prentiss dies. A quick journey into the conflicted and depressed mind of one Spencer Reid. Trigger warnings.


**Disclaimer:** Yup, Criminal Minds? Not mine.

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Spencer could feel the familiar burning in his nose, feel his eyes pooling with liquid threatening to spill over. He kept his throat tight, refusing to give into the desperate tears.

He was so sick of crying. So tired of feeling helpless, lost, alone. Because it had become his normal. People left him. Abandoned him. He knew he shouldn't blame it on himself but he did. Even though he knew it wasn't his fault his dad left him. It couldn't possibly be his fault his mother had schizophrenia.

He told himself this every day. Reminded himself that he didn't do anything wrong. He needed to stay strong, and go to work. He had monsters to catch, and he liked the idea that even if he couldn't control his own monsters, he could stop others. He liked feeling as though he had a purpose. Something that had become a rarity for him.

Because as much as he tried to convince himself it wasn't his fault, he knew it was. The thought took over his mind; it ate away at him. He had always had to live with the truth of his broken family. His parents couldn't raise him. He believed he made life hard for them and in return they didn't care for him well. Why else would his dad have left them? And his mother didn't need the burden of a son when she was already dealing with paranoid schizophrenia.

Reid felt worthless. He was horrible for believing his dad was a murderer. Horrible for not visiting his mom. Even if he managed to convince himself it wasn't his fault he was alone, he knew it was his fault he wasn't a better person.

When he received the news that Emily was dead, it felt like a ton of bricks had been dropped on his heart. And they hadn't left. Her death hit him hard. He wasn't completely sure why, which just made him more upset. He profiled people for a living! Why couldn't he figure out what was wrong with himself?

And it wasn't just that he lost someone close to him. It was more than that. Her death made him relive what had happened when they had both been kidnapped. How, despite her reassurance that it wasn't his fault and he should just let it go, he felt completely guilty. He felt horrible even though she had told him not to, and it made him realize how truly alone he was. How he couldn't count his family as family and that his team was all he had. How if he lost the team, he would lose himself.

Since Emily's death, crying had become a daily occurrence for Spencer. He would wake up, somehow manage to drag himself out of bed and go to work, and then come home and cry himself to sleep. He felt pitiful. Worthless. Weak.

He started to believe he wasn't worth anything. The satisfaction that had come with the success he had at work was beginning to wear off. He figured there would always be someone to take his place. He began to believe that he didn't have a purpose other than to be a burden in other's lives.

He was able to convince himself that he wouldn't be missed if he were to disappear forever. The team was dealing with one death, one more couldn't possibly affect them anymore. And no one else would know. No one else would care if he ceased to exist.

Dilaudid. Could that be his answer? If he started taking the drug again, maybe he could ignore his pathetic excuse for a life. Maybe he could depend on that instead of crying to JJ. Maybe he could stop being so needy.

He got his hands on the drug. It was exactly as he remembered it years ago. Sitting on the floor of his apartment, holding the little bottle in his hand, he entertained the thought of injecting himself and never needing to feel the pain of anything else. It was a comforting delusion, but that's all it ever was. He hadn't been able to bring himself to use the drug. He had been about to inject himself with a large dose when the flashbacks returned. And he knew that he didn't want to have to deal with remembering his other kidnapping on top of everything else. He wanted the opposite. He wanted to forget.

This just made him become more frustrated. There would be times where he would just sit in the dark in his apartment, punishing himself. He didn't deserve his team. He didn't deserve his friends. He didn't deserve anything.

Knives had always made Reid the tiniest bit queasy. He had seen countless stab wounds through his work. He began to see knives as weapons, and weapons alone. Now though, this became comforting. He replaced his thoughts of dilaudid with thoughts of knives. The thought of a blade gliding across his skin, his blood dripping on the floor.

One night, after he returned home from one of his many crying sessions at JJ's place, he gave in. It was late, and he felt so bad. So bad that he had to act so weak in front of her. She shouldn't have to deal with his pitiful existence. No one should.

He sat in his kitchen, gripping a knife, his knuckles turning white. His arm shook, and he tried to clear his mind. Deep down, he knew he shouldn't. Deep down, in his subconscious, he knew that people would care. But that didn't stop him. It didn't stop him from bringing the blade to his wrist and pressing down into his pale skin. Beads of blood began to form on his arm and he winced, enjoying his own suffering. He deserved this, he convinced himself as he pressed harder with the knife. He deserved this.

Looking back on that night he would wonder if he his aim had been to kill. He would wonder why he had finally been pushed over the edge. He would wonder why he hadn't stopped himself. But he would also be thankful. Thankful beyond belief that he had left his phone at JJ's house. Thankful that she realized it before she went to sleep, and that, although she thought it was irrational, had decided to return it that night. Thankful that JJ had a key to his apartment and felt comfortable just walking in. She had found him. She had stopped him. She had probably saved his life.

He wasn't completely alright after that night. How could he be? He went to therapy and saw many a doctor. He was prescribed medicine and was eventually allowed back at work. He had been understandably distant at first, ashamed of what he had done, ready to fully dedicate his time to the cases and not his personal life.

Everyone worried. They were scared that the job would become too much for him. Scared that, even though the medicine worked, he would regress. They watched him closely. And yet, they tried to treat him normally, fully aware that he wouldn't want them to worry.

They knew they would never get the Spencer Reid they were used to back. Over time he would smile again. Laugh with them again. Playfully interact with them again. But he could never be the same again. He had encountered his deepest monsters. And he knew they would never truly leave him.

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**A/N:** So this is the first thing I've written in months, and the first thing I've ever written for Criminal Minds. It's rough and fast paced but I'm kinda happy with it. Ah who am I kidding, it was probably crap. This is what happens when I write when I'm overtired. Well, if you took the time to read it, I thank you very much and wouldn't mind hearing what you thought of my short little fic.


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